


Don't Leave Yet

by orphan_account



Series: Ashes and Roses [1]
Category: Gerita - Fandom, Hetalia - Fandom, Spamano - Fandom, Sufin - Fandom, prucan - Fandom, rochu - Fandom, usuk - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8737684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The world is plunged into chaos. Countries are no longer at peace with one another. Ash coats the ground and roses yield the sharpest thorns. People are dying, and the only way to survive is kill. But what if we could change that? What if everyone could come together and just live for a greater cause? But...just don't leave yet...not yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first AO3 work ever, and I know that at times I won't update for months on end, but continue to bug me and I'll jump back into it again!

* * *

_It's been years since before the ash started falling. Maybe decades before the roses. Maybe centuries since normalcy._

* * *

It was a bright summer morning, or rather, as bright as it could be during an apocalypse, that's for certain. The sound of military boots crunching through granite-colored ash seemed to be fading towards the west as the sun dragged itself with fiery nails up into the sky. Birds no longer called, and humans were no longer seen outdoors. It was a dangerous place to be, after all the damage done. 

No one was certain of the cause which triggered the ash fall or plant mutation, but it made everyone uneasy. It wasn't normal. Since when did ash fall from the sky and roses become monsters, shells of their once beautiful past? 

Not a child stirred that morning. Not a one. After all, they never had woken before. They used to play in the square before ash clogged up their lungs like leaves in the gutter. Adults used to swing them around on their arms before the ash fell. Not anymore. 

Unless you were immortal, you knew that sooner or later that would happen to you, too. You'd die painfully under a sky you wished to be filled with stars. Starlight no longer touched the world. 

The gods from millennia before may have been said to disappear from lack of faith, but not I. I believe the gods have returned, and instead of sunlight and forgiveness, they've coated the world in icy malice. 

* * *

Several immortal eyelids fluttered before the first man awoke. Jolting up from an unforgiving, cold floor, Canada rubbed his head. Every day he seemed to forget something important. All he knew is that something warm and fluffy was supposed to sit next to him. Something bright white with a little pink tongue. He'd forgotten what it was like to have one person who remembered him. Who noticed him. 

Canada looked over toward the crew next to him. All major world powers, all except one. A young man, albino with a narcissistic attitude at first, but a failed empire the next. He always wondered why he got to stick around. Probably because so many people remembered. Made famous because of his failure. His legacy continued by his younger brother, Germany. Canada just couldn't keep his eyes off of him. He was enchanting. 

Canada turned to his over-the-top loud twin brother, who always seemed to get the most attention purely from his mistakes. He was charming, intelligent, a bit naïve at times...And so, so very stupid. He smiled just thinking about it. And his half-parent, England, lying close by, his large eyebrows always making his brother and him laugh the hardest. When they were children, England always seemed to be there. He remembered who Canada was. He loved him. 

But his brother stole the limelight,  and Canada forgave him. It was easy to get attracted to his brother. He was loud and demanding, while his brother sat idly by, playing with that thing he couldn't seem to remember now. 

Looking over, the communist countries appeared in sight. A brown-haired man lay next to a grey-haired man seemingly the same age, but one old enough to be his great-great-grandfather. China and Russia. Two very different countries, yet so similar. Canada didn't mind them. 

Germany and Italy held hands, both deeply asleep with no knowledge of their actions. Canada remembered how they stuck to each other's side, steadfast and loyal. Although Italy seemed to drive Germany absolutely mad. 

Italy's brother, South Italy or more commonly called Romano, was on his side, facing away from Spain. Both were brown-haired, and Romano seemed to hate everyone, but Spain least of all. 

Sweden and Finland were not far from them, snuggling quietly in their slumber, Sweden's glasses set precariously on the floor beside them. Finland looked like an angel when he was asleep. 

Canada smiled at all of them. They seemed to be happy and well. But what of his own future? Who would make him happy? Who would hold hands with him and snuggle with him? Canada's biggest question:

Am I important to  _anyone?_

Canada slipped on his own glasses and gently awoke his twin. "Hey, America, wake up. We need to get going before the Roses catch up."

That did the trick. Within minutes,  Canada and America had everyone awake and ready to leave. Their salt line was bound to break any minute. England muttered regrets under his breath and shouldered his pack. 

"Alright, everyone. Remember what we're out to do. We're going to save our citizens and probably reverse this bloody nightmare. We are countries; we've lived long enough." He shot a glance in China's direction, whom shrugged nonchalantly. "Anyway, let's get going. The salt line is going to shatter any minute. The Roses are going to get our scent from downwind, and then we're--"

America butted in. "As done as your scones."

That earned him a slap and a poorly-done wedgie. 

The Brit cleared his throat. "So, move out. Russia, I'm leaving you as point."

Russia nodded his understanding before dragging his boots outside. As they left the small concrete storage shed, Canada couldn't help but look back at the structure that kept them alive for so many months. Romano, however, bid it a not-so-sentimental farewell and continued to scold Spain. For what reasons, he didn't know. The rest of the countries continued, seemingly to have forgotten all about him. 

Canada didn't mind. He kept walking despite being dismissed as nothing. He followed close behind the cold-climate countries, liking the company and someone to relate to. Both Sweden and Finland turned their heads a bit to peer at Canada. 

"Hello, there, Canada. It's good to see you again," said Finland, smiling cheerfully, or what was left of his smile. 

"H'llo, t' you, t'o," Sweden droned, his words jumbled. He had taken a bad hit to the head from one of the Roses, permanently slurring his speech. Finland had cried by his side for hours after that. 

Canada smiled faintly. "I hope Russia will find us somewhere safe from the monsters. I hate moving so much."

"Ciao, Canada! Get over here!" Romano shouted, commanding Canada. He nodded tiredly toward what was left of the Nordics before trotting up to Romano. 

"Hello. What's the problem, eh?" Canada said tiredly. Romano liked to yell. 

"We both know that one day we're going to be forgotten," said he, keeping his gaze locked onto Russia. "But when we fade away, I want to do it with you by my side."

"That's, uhh, very nice of you," Canada whispered shyly. "I'll make sure to remember that."

"Your memory is fading, Canada. You won't last after two years from now. Make sure you write all of this down. Once your memory is empty, you'll have something to use to remember." Roma turned to him, catching his amethyst eyes with his own cocoa-brown. 

Canada swallowed. Since when did he get so serious? He nodded meekly before lagging back to the end of the group. Finland and Sweden had already begun to forget. 

"Hello, Finland. Hello, Sweden."

Their heads turned. Finland smiled and Sweden grunted. "Hello," they said together. 

Canada couldn't help sulking. 

_No one remembered._

 

 


	2. The Only Exception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another update. Is it just me, or does sad songs help me write? I don't know, maybe I'm just weird.

_No one remembers._ Canada felt the hot tears press at his lower lid, but he swallowed and let them slip out and course down his ash-stained cheeks. He smiled up at the Scandinavian countries, with surprise on their faces, and choked out, "I'm fine." Finland reached a hand out to calm him but Canada broke away, feeling as if he needed to vomit. No one really needed him, after all, they forgot him in three seconds. They would abandon him in a heartbeat. They would toss him to the Roses if they had to. Canada felt a scream tear at his throat, but he held it down and started to run. A pale arm stopped him however, and he jerked backward. His light purple eyes glistening with shock and tears, he was pulled into someone's warm embrace. Canada looked up, finding white hair and stern, garnet eyes staring back at him. Canada's heart shattered as he threw his arms around him, sobbing into his chest. He could feel Prussia's own arms hugging him back. His mouth went down to the Canadian's ear, his crisp breath tickling his neck,  
  
"Call me Gilbert. Gilbert Beildeschmit."  
  
Canada's eyes flew open. Not a single nation had admitted to him their human name. That was a bit dangerous for most nations. Only another way to stab someone in the back. His grip tightened around the albino's shirt, sobbing harder into his shirt.  
  
"Matthew Williams," he choked out, tears making his face raw. Gilbert kissed Canada's head with mirth and pulled away.   
  
"Whenever you need me, just call me. I'll come right away, okay?"  
  
Matthew nodded, determined and wiping off the remains of his tears.

 

* * *

A minute passed before they heard a scream. All plans of migration vanished immediately as they ran toward the sound, all fears suddenly forgotten. Finland's face turned cold and patronly as he launched himself in front of everyone else, passiveness melting into pure aggression. A thorny tendril curled around a house, lifting a young girl on one of its smooth tentacles. She struggled to get free, but the flowers emitted a sweet smell, causing the girl to fall limp in its grip. The countries whipped out their scarves and tied them around their face. Romano unsheathed dual hunting knives and ran, China close behind with a sharp, old-fashioned sword. America, England, Sweden, and Germany leveled their guns and fired. Italy unsheathed his daggers and flashed after his brother. Spain untied his double-bladed spear from his back and darted into battle. Canada and Prussia could only look on as the other countries fought.  
  
Prussia pressed his pistol into Matthew's pal. Surprised, Canada's hand wrapped around the barrel and he fumbled to get it in his fist.  
  
"Cold iron bullets," whispered Gilbert. "Insta-kill."  
  
The countries brought the creature down to its knees, the sharp thorns bleeding green slime. Matthew inhaled deeply, closed one eye, and shot.  
  
The Rose fell, dissolving into petals. England darted forward and gathered the petals into his vial. The petals could nourish the team if they went into a period of famine, or create powerful potions. Too bad Romania and Norway had fallen on the way. He missed them dearly.  
  
Canada slipped the gun back to Prussia weakly, breathing shallowly. He pulled up his sleeve, and the rest of them did the same. Pressing their arms together, the ragged scars carved in their arms created a great rose symbol, the rose in the center on fire. England fished out his vial and poured some rosewater on their marks, the scars flaming a dark black so they could see the design clearly. They knelt to observe the girl, who had a few scratches but otherwise was healing quickly.  
  
China, Russia, and America sighed and brought out some paste out of the bags. America painted one line of white on the girl's head, China's red, and Russia's blue. The paste dissolved into her skin and a bright green symbol in the shape of a leaf appeared below her right eye. Another country.  
  
But...who?  
  
Canada pushed past them to look, gasping. Wy, a micronation off the coast of Australia. He picked her up. "This is Wy, near Australia. We must carve her arm immediately."  
  
China's eyes narrowed. "She is too young. Her skin too versatile. We need her to get older. And we can't afford to take another child with us. Do you remember Peter?"  
  
The crew grew silent. Peter had tried to free his brother Ladonia from a Rose, trying his martial arts experience. But both of them were overtaken with the pink sleep the Roses liked to use, in order to posses a vessel. Peter and Ladonia were out there somewhere, but they didn't want to look for them. It was hopeless.  
  
Romano wiped slime off of his knives and patted Canada on the back. "You know we can't."  
  
But soon after, three young women appeared. Belarus, Hungary, and Seychelles. Reunited with one of his siblings, Russia ran to his sister. Belarus and Russia embraced each other as Seychelles sprinted to Wy's side. "Is she okay?" Seychelles looked up, and her expression soured. "Where is France?"  
  
England swallowed. "France...is out there somewhere. We haven't found him yet."  
  
Hungary pulled on Seychelles shoulders. "That's enough. We have been reunited with our brethren. We should celebrate."  
  
Italy was about to interject, but Germany stopped him. "If only we had supplies to celebrate. But we can't stop now. We need to continue on with our mission. Let's keep ourselves focused on trying to find another safe place."  
  
Spain nodded and tied his spear onto his back again. "I will help. Please, follow me. I will try my best."  
  
After a tense battle, they continued walking on. Canada felt as if his feet were going to drop off, but luckily Spain found an old abandoned warehouse, England quickly tracing a salt line and enchanted chalk circle. He burnt cloves and hung garlic by the doorways to repel Roses. It was beginning to become afternoon, and Canada reached into his pack. He looked at a can of fruit cocktail with halfheartedness before tossing it to the Scandinavians. Hard to believe that they'd be going through this. They were so kind...  
  
America sat next to his twin, hugging him with one arm. "We'll make it, bro. Have some faith."  
  
 _I'll try. It won't be that easy._


End file.
